


The Darkness in his Eyes, The Scar in his Heart

by GenimStilinski



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Stiles is secretly not so secretly Hale Pack, Stiles is unintentionally excluded from the McCall Pack, drunk!Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-20
Updated: 2013-08-20
Packaged: 2017-12-24 02:56:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/934462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GenimStilinski/pseuds/GenimStilinski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Sheriff can't help but wonder why it is that, between Scott, Isaac, and Allison, not a single one of them could take the time to look for Stiles, to make sure he wasn't hurt or in immediate danger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Darkness in his Eyes, The Scar in his Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place at the end of s3ep12, so if you haven't watched it yet, THERE BE SPOILERS AHEAD!!!
> 
> Also, there is a fair amount of talk of Scott's treatment of Stiles, which Stiles' doesn't entirely mean, but Scott stans may take offense. I'd like to state for the record that I do not hate, or even dislike Scott, but I do believe that he is in no way infallible, despite his best intentions. 
> 
> And with that, I hope you enjoy the fic!

            The Sheriff found Stiles sprawled in one of the dining room chairs, taking a long sip from his cup full of whiskey before setting it back on the table, his hand never uncurling. He sighed, knowing if he didn’t put his foot down soon that Stiles would be too hung over in the morning to go to school, but fully aware of how much the kid probably needed it right now. The Sheriff wanted better for his son, wanted for him not to hit the bottle when things got rough, but the past few days had been far worse than most, and he’d heard enough from Scott this evening to paint a pretty vivid picture of exactly how bad things had been for Stiles.

            The 'guardians' and their children had all gathered in this same room as soon as they all made it out of the root cellar, and Scott had joined them from the distillery. Allison, Chris, Melissa, Stiles and himself had all piled into Allison’s car; he’d seen the crashed jeep on their walk back, and figured that was where Stiles got the bleeding cut on his head. Isaac came with them, riding on the back of Scott's bike. 

            Again, if the Sheriff had the heart to take the booze away, he would, since it’s not a good idea to drink when you’re concussed, which Melissa said that he was. Instead, he poured himself a small glass and sat across from his son.

            Once upon a time, he had figured he and Stiles would drink together the night he turned 21, and he’d tell his kid how very proud he was of the man he’d become. But now they sat here, and the Sheriff honestly couldn’t tell anymore when Stiles had truly shed the last of his childhood away, and when this darkness had settled into his unmoving eyes. The stillness was the worst, and it made him feel the full weight of what Scott had said about surrogate sacrifices…what lengths his son had gone to find him. Not that he wanted to die down there, but he couldn’t help but wonder if the cost was worth it, seeing how deeply the scar ran.

            Stiles took a gulp, and set the glass heavily down. The Sheriff took a sip of his own.

            And it wasn’t just the sacrifices that lead them here. He’d been watching Stiles’ face the whole time Scott and Isaac were recounting the tale of what had happened while the parents were gone. The part that scared him the most? It was the part where Scott said that he, Isaac and Allison had met up, noticed that Stiles was missing, and decided not to wait for him. And yes, the Sheriff understood why. Time was of the essence. But, there were three of them, and none had suggested looking for Stiles, who unbeknownst to them, was unconscious in his crashed jeep at the time. Perhaps it was an oversight, but Stiles’ face told of a deeper meaning.

            Which was why, before he could think better of it, the Sheriff asked him, “What do you think was going on in their heads that not one of them could go looking for you?”

            He half expected for the question to startle the boy, or at least get him to raise his head, but he just lifted the glass, looking bitterly into it before taking another sip.

            “I’m not in their pack. I never was.”

            And boy, was that news to him, because the past few days, all he’d heard from Melissa in terms of the supernatural going ons in this town highlighted all the ways in which Scott and Stiles had saved the day countless times, and how much of a help Scott had said Stiles had been when he’d been bitten.

            “How are you not their pack, Stiles?”

            “Scott,” Stiles choked out before draining the rest of his cup, “has this habit, you know, of getting there right at the last moment to save the day. He’s almost never there when I need him to be.”

            Stiles leaned forward, resting heavily on the table, finally looking into his father’s eyes.

            “But Derek? He’s saved my life enough times that I’ve lost count, and I’ve saved his, too.” He leaned back, and poured himself more to drink. Stiles, he lamented, would not be going to school tomorrow, because at this rate, he wouldn’t be hungover, but still drunk, and the Sheriff was just gonna let him. Nobody ever said he was in the running for the ‘best dad of the year’ award.

            “And guess what? When I told you I was at Scott’s house most days this summer? I was with Derek, helping him look for Erica and Boyd. We never even asked for Scott’s help, since he’s always going on and on about how he never wanted the bite, and how Derek’s ruined his life.”

            Another swig, followed by some drunken exclamatory pointing, “But you know what?” He leaned in again, as if to tell a secret. “That…was all me. I lead him into the woods, and I left him there when you found me and not him, and now, he’s the fuckin’ true alpha. And _maybe_ I was a douche to leave him there, but the last time I checked, friends don’t leave their friends to hold up 200 pounds of paralyzed werewolf up in the school pool while they’re off having dinner with their ex-girlfriend’s murderous family, and they _sure as hell_ don’t pull that same shit about not picking up the phone when it’s an emergency over and over again when said friend, said _fragile, human friend_ is about to die for the millionth time.”

            The glass dropped, shattering all over the floor, and Stiles didn’t even spare it a second glance.

            “But you know what? Derek’s always answered his fucking phone, no matter how busy or irritated he was. And he always there when I needed him. That man? That’s my alpha, and his pack is my pack, because I might do everything I can to help Scott, but he only cares about me when it’s convenient for him.”

            The Sheriff sat back, watching this train wreck of a breakdown before him, uncertain what he could possibly do to help. It wasn’t like when Stiles would get panic attacks, and he could just rub his back and tell him to breathe, nor was it like anything else he’d ever seen from Stiles.

            He thought for a moment of calling Derek for assistance, since it was obvious how much that man and his son had learned to depend on each other while he was looking in all the wrong places for what exactly had been going on. But, it was now the middle of the night, and he figured it wouldn’t be too nice to wake him up after all of this evening’s trouble. He looked back just in time for Stiles to shrug and take a sip straight from the bottle, and begrudgingly came to the conclusion that it was time for him to man up and do something about his son, who was very obviously hurt in ways he couldn’t even begin to imagine.

            “Stiles,” He leaned across the table, gently prying the whiskey from his son’s strong fingers, “I think you’ve had enough.” Of course, Stiles fought, and vocally protested, but he was in no condition to actually win this battle.

            “You need sleep, not more alcohol, son,” Stiles stared at him with the most pitiful eyes, and there behind it was that flash of darkness, before he truly let go of the bottle. The Sheriff got up and capped it before returning and hauling Stiles to his feet, putting an arm around his waist to steady and lead him.

            “But, the glass,” Stiles gestured back to the kitchen, looking somewhat guilty for not cleaning up his mess.

            “I’ll get it later, kiddo, don’t worry about it.” They took the stairs slowly, and soon enough, the Sheriff had managed to maneuver Stiles all the way into sitting on the edge of his bed, where he could help him get his shoes off. Stiles started stripping off the rest, so he went over to the dresser and found some clothes to throw over onto the bed for him to change into.

            He hovered, waiting to see if Stiles would need any help, but despite his drunken state, Stiles did a pretty good job of getting into his clothes, and then under the covers on his stomach. He took the trash can from under Stiles’ desk and put it beside the bed, in the event that he couldn’t hold his liquor through the night, and then he moved away to turn off the light, and leave. Just before he shut the door, he heard, “Dad?”

            “Yeah, son?” He turned back, looking at his kid through the light in the hallway, forgetting for a moment how haggard he looked, in favor of the briefest flicker of childlike concern on his face.

            “Whenever I wake up tomorrow, I wanna go over to Derek’s, and make sure he and Cora are alright, is that okay?”

            “Yeah, that’s fine.”

            Neither of them knew, as the Sheriff closed the door, and Stiles let his eyes finally close for the evening, that Derek, his alpha…his pack, would be gone before he could even make it out of bed.


End file.
